The Dim Light Ahead
by bonjouraurevoir
Summary: The key to staying alive isn't hope that maybe things might change. It's making sure that my brother and I don't become what's next on their menu. And if that takes using my father's meat tenderizer to bash their brains in, then so be it.


**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead and did not create any characters besides Anna and Gavin.**

_Hey there! Here's my first ever story I'm posting on here (besides an awful one a long time ago but hey, that doesn't count. No one remembers… SHHHH)! I hope you enjoy it! I've been a fan of the show since episode one aired and always wanted to write a survival story. I don't really have control of my characters so no promises on what they'll do or where they'll end up. I hope it is to your liking… review or whatevaaaah. Or not. That's cool too._

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The house smelled lovely. It was quiet and plain, but the dim flicker of light and the smooth shadows that floated across the upper windows sent a jolt of excitement through me. So, I scurried onwards in the direction of the illuminated panes, hungry pants echoing throughout the night air.

The noise quickly escalated, and as it grew I pushed on harder—some strange sense of familiarity dragging me forward towards what I knew was a temporary release from the horrible ache. Oh, this ache. It clawed at me, driving me ahead in a desperate attempt to satiate this primal need. I stumbled and lurched forth, frantically searching for the sweet relief that lay just beyond this awful barrier. I could practically taste it, heavy and stark in my mouth, just like earlier. So I clawed harder and was soon overwhelmed with delight as the heavenly scent we all knew flooded forward with our entry.

It was a man. He was there, just an arm's length away, one moment. Gone the next. A frustrated snarl ripped from my throat. But the thundering of his footfalls brought us clambering and twisting up the uneven and slanted ground until we were once again thrust up against another obstacle. It quaked beneath us as we pressed on.

The stench was digging at me from the inside. The hunger writhed and begged for release and at that moment it was my only purpose—to consume. It drove me mad with want and dominated my very existence. I barely took notice when both of my arms crumbled under pressure and snapped to stand at very odd angles, but the small clicks were inaudible in comparison to the sobs of agony and anguish that bounced off of the narrow walls. After an eternity and to my delight, screams filled the air. My whines fell silent as I gripped flesh and a fresh torrent of scarlet made its way down my throat and chin. The skin and muscle stretched between my teeth as I worked tirelessly to consume all. The small thing soon fell silent, its gurgles and soft gasps dying with each moment—and without the struggle I let my eyes roll and stutter around the dark space until they fell on something that caught my attention.

It ignited something inside of me, strangely, that was not hunger. It was not the need to destroy. It was not a selfish craving, but a foreign feeling in the center of my chest that extinguished all warmth. The… photograph, yes, that's what it was, stood on a table. The two children inside the frame peered curiously at me with wide grins and a whole different type of scarlet smeared across their faces… ice cream. It was so innocent. And familiar.

My hands fell from the limp body.

My eyes slid slowly towards the disfigured face.

But, even through the gore and carnage, it was recognizable. The child from the photo. Even though the halo of chestnut hair that framed her face was now matted with blood, even though her light green eyes were dim and lifeless, her pointed nose had been torn away, and her soft mouth was open in a silent scream, I still recognized her.

We shared the same face.

_I'm dreaming._

But that didn't stop me from emitting a shriek and scrambling frantically away from my own fallen body. I vomited down the front of my shirt and clambered backwards from the mass of moving bodies that swarmed around the child. Friends and family all turned to face me with startling milky eyes and sickening fluids running down their faces and I stared in horror as they made their way towards me. They snarled hungrily and grabbed at me, dragging me within their reach and sunk into me with jagged, rotting teeth.

The first thing I was conscious of was the hand covering my mouth, muffling my screams and forcing the back of my head into something quite hard.

"_Anna!"_

My heart was already racing in my chest, but the panic and confusion that quickly set in only increased its pace. I began struggling frantically in the black of night, grasping at leaves and twigs, until my eyes adjusted and met a pair of startlingly dark ones peering back at me. _Oh. _I immediately slackened as I recognized whose hands covered my face.

_"Anna. _Re_lax." _he begged. "It was just a dream. _Shush."_

The pleading look he hit me with startled me back to reality. This was neither the time nor the place to be shrieking. It was long before dawn, the woods still unclear around us, and any number of those things could be out here. I had practically rung the dinner bell for them. _Any hungry freaks out there? Come and get some escar-Gavin with a side of Anna-douillette. On the house._

"Are you done?" he barely whispered, leaning some of his weight on my face in case I decided to throw another fit that might get us killed. It was a warning. Because shouting my lungs hoarse in the middle of the forest wasn't just annoying to Gavin—it was a death sentence for the pair of us. I slowly nodded my head, gripping his wrists tightly.

He pulled away from me and sat back on his heels, breathing heavily and scanning the area. He tilted his head to one side and strained his ears for the tell tale sign of their arrival, the heavy steps and the wheezing moans.

_Damn it. Think, for once._

The lingering silence allowed for my mind to pull the memory of my dream forward and I scrambled for my small bag that leaned against the base of a birch. I stuck my hand in, avoiding the array of various kitchen knives, and pulled out a thin stack of photographs held together with a rubber band. I carefully sorted through them, admiring each individual memory, until I held the exact one from my nightmare cautiously between my thumb and forefinger.

It was of Gavin and me. We were both perched on the edge of a our family's picnic table, holding red popsicles and grinning like mad men at the camera our father was holding. Our arms were linked and we looked exhausted from the Georgian heat with sweat dripping down our necks, but the summer party was always a favorite of ours. Mom had forever adored the way our heads were tilted and pressed against each other's—pure joy glittering from beneath our dark lashes.

"It's about," Gavin paused to check his watch, "quarter after four. If you can, get some more rest. I'll keep an eye out until sunrise. We've got a long day ahead of oursel—"

"I'm not tired anymore." He looked disbelieving at me as I tucked the photograph away. I blamed the eternal bags that had formed under my eyes and the paranoid feeling that had been screwed into both of us in the last few weeks. "_Really." _I added. There was no way in hell that I would be able to sleep again tonight. Not only did the nightmare startle me, but the details and how realistic it was shook me to the core. I was close to breaking, and Gavin knew it. I clamped my hands together to stop the trembling.

Deciding not to push me, he plucked an extra sweater from his own bag and rolled onto his side away from me.

"Wake me when it's light." He mumbled into the fabric. I made my way to lean against a trunk where I carefully watched his breathing as it slowed to a steady and rhythmic pattern and quiet hums escaped him. I was always incredibly jealous of his ability to simply shut off and sleep away his problems. Especially with the new and cold world we now lived in, I never found sleep easily, and when I did it wasn't long before the nightmares began. Gavin slept like a freakin' rock. Always had and probably always would.

When I knew for certain that he was asleep, I slipped to the ground and pulled the photo out again.

I glanced around the forest and took in our surroundings. Just because no freaks had come stumbling out of the forest just after I yelled didn't mean that they didn't hear and were on their way to investigate. I gripped the kitchen knife harder and tried to still my shaking hands while scanning between the trees. There wasn't any movement as far as I could tell, but it was still quite dark and they were famous for showing up when you least expected it.

I averted my eyes from the tree line and peered again at the photograph of my twin brother and me. Our innocent smiles served as stark reminders as to how much had changed in those last few weeks. I hardly remembered what it was like to not have to worry that you were going to be eaten alive by those _things. _Grades. Friends. College. None of that mattered now. The only responsibility I had anymore was to make sure that Gavin and I lived to see another day—and it was not as easy as it used to be. Especially not with those stumbling, starving, slobbering freaks popping up just when you thought you were safe. Just when you thought: _Hey, yeah I had to kill my own father. And sure, my life is pretty much destroyed now. But, maybe things aren't so bad anymore. Maybe things will get better… _When you think that, the deranged, emaciated body of the basketball player who sat next to you in English comes stumbling out of the trees. And he's looking at you like you're lunch, not that he didn't before either but that's _not_ the point. And before he can sink his perfectly straight teeth into your jugular vein, you take the meat cleaver to his skull—splattering yourself with grey bits of who-knows-what.

So, I never think that anymore. The key to staying alive isn't hope that _maybe _things _might _change. It's staying vigilant and making sure that my brother and I don't become what's next on their menu. And if that takes using my father's meat tenderizer to bash their brains in, then _so be it._

But for now, with the forest silent and Gavin peacefully ignorant, I curl in on myself and silently weep into my hands, the photograph and knife forgotten by my side.

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_**A/N: There we go! Very short, but I've got school in the morning and I whipped this up nice and quick. Apologies for the inevitable grammar issues. Hopefully I'll update with a much juicier and longer chapter quite soon… If not, I'm sure I'll have a good excuse! If anyone even reads this pathetic attempt at a story of mine... Eek.**_


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